1

New guy. Brown jacket. Gun in my back.

Don’t like him.

Into the elevator. Subbasement seventeen. Boottread slipping on the floor. I go down.

Portholes, again. The view. Vacuum of space, thenthe desert. What?

Scrambling to get up.

Pushes me through a hatch and the hatch closes.Metallic sound, and then the hatch opens again.

TIght.

This really is the desert.

Sit down in a rover and now we’re speeding acrossthe sand. Ample dust. Sunlight. The trip is taking awhile, and my eyes, dry and tired, come to a stop on thedriver’s side­arm.

Inscription in silver along the stock: THE STATEWILL EVENTUALLY WITHER AWAY LIKE A SNARKHUNTER, LEAVING US ALL FREE AS BIRDS. Can’thelp but look down at my handcuffs. Irony?

"That’s a new one," says the driver, smiling. "Usedto read, simply, NUANCE, but there were objections.Nuance was out of the question."

"What kind of objections," I ask, but his eyes areback on the road and he ignores me for the rest of thetrip.

"I know what you’re thinking," he finally says,smiling again as we roll up to the guarded entrance.

He’s fishing for his papers, there’s no time for himto elaborate.

We enter.

2

Life at the test site is strange.

I get up in the morning and step into a pressuresuit, seal up my face and don’t speak to a soul all day.

As I’m working, I hear things.

"...the prize of them that hath overcome Space."

Strange things. But I know better than to ask whatgoes on in the other buildings.

None of these buildings seem to have basements.

Occasionally, we’re asked to press our faces to theground and then ignore the sounds that are coming fromoutside the hanger.

Afterwards, we get back to work.

Like I said, I don’t ask questions. I pack the pilots’lunches and load them into the cockpits. I do a good job.I’m popular with the pilots.

Most of them know my name.

3

We’re all standing around outside, smoking, whenthe paperwork arrives. A forklift unloads it onto theflight line and then departs. We’ll move the papers intothe hangar as time permits.

"Tight," pronounces my supervisor, and we all headback inside to straighten out our cover stories.

4

Weather is still an issue. The sky’s always pink.

I am probably mentally ill.

I’ve been advised not to wear shorts on the shopfloor.

Shifts are ten hours, plus breaks. Designatedsmoking area, but we pretty much light up wherever wewant. Explosions are infrequent.

Some of us watch telescreen while we work.

I prefer to concentrate.

5

Once a week I get my hair cut.

Into the chair, cape on, tissues tucked into my col­lar. I always ask for a perfect box. This is seen ashumor, because the barber doesn’t care what I want.The government pays him anyway. I give him the fingerunder my cape.

Today I’m in the chair, flipping through an issue ofACTRON, when the alarm sounds.

Staffed by professionals, the barber shop clears inseconds. TIGHT IMPRESSIONS runs a tight ship.

"Tight," I say, to myself.

Outside, a flight of new hires is arriving. I head formy bunk.

Brown jacket is waiting for me.

NOTES